


living dead girl(s)

by abatt0ir



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (Cartoon 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: F/M, Halloween Costumes, Jealousy, Oral Sex, Pole Dancing, Sex Work, The girls are fighting!!!!, Threesome - F/F/M, it's beetlejuice's lucky day, sort of? it's playful jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abatt0ir/pseuds/abatt0ir
Summary: It's Halloween.Well, it's probably Halloween.A party bus full of coeds arrives in the waiting room (spattered with blood both real and fake) bemoaning the ruination of their costumes, and word spreads all the way to Dante's Inferno Room. Time, as it passes in the Neitherworld, is is a stagnant and unchanging thing, and any opportunity to inject excitement into the afterlife is welcomed with open arms.Or, in Bambi's case, excited squealing.--Bambi and Lamia get caught up in a playful Halloween catfight, and for once, Beetlejuice benefits.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Kudos: 11





	living dead girl(s)

**Author's Note:**

> october prompt on the BJ discord was "costume" so i just...put the girls in costumes. don't think too hard about it, i just wanted to write porn. plot bunny courtesy of clair.
> 
> lamia belongs to clairjohnson // mal to katthescrub // zia to beetlewise-and-pennyjuice // lyra to mirandalynn // anais to jennie-lynn // poppy to vicuna // bernadette to pumpkin king // evie to turtlepated // xanthe to hoodoo // lorelei to commander-kim // ivan to pumpkin head

It's Halloween. 

Well, it's _probably_ Halloween.

A party bus full of coeds arrives in the waiting room (spattered with blood both real and fake) bemoaning the ruination of their costumes, and word spreads all the way to Dante's Inferno Room. Time, as it passes in the Neitherworld, is is a stagnant and unchanging thing, and any opportunity to inject excitement into the afterlife is welcomed with open arms.

Or, in Bambi's case, excited squealing. 

\---

"What's this, then?" 

Even over the throb of Dante's infernal sound system, Bambi knows the tenor of Lamia's voice, turning on her perilous platform heels to greet the other woman. Spilling out of a skintight red vinyl dress, she hardly looks dissimal from usual, save for the matching pointed hat pinned atop her mass of bubblegum curls. 

"I'm a _witch_ ," she points at the hat, "obviously."

Where Bambi's costume is as tasteless as the girl herself, Lamia's is as elegant. A gossamer-thin gown in the Grecian style, just transparent enough to tantalize, bound by gold cord - on her head, a mass of shimmering snakes, blinking placidly in the stage lights. Medusa, a fitting choice for a woman who the other dancers often joked is, herself, made of stone.

"So you are," Lamia's voice is neutral, but something flares in her eyes, a spark of strange humor.

Suddenly nervous, Bambi coughs out a giggle. "Ohmigod, wait. Is this offensive? Am I offending you?" 

Lamia, whose stage name was The Witch, who died in 1626 after narrowly escaping being burned alive at the stake, Lamia who could hex Bambi nine ways from Sunday, politely cocks an eyebrow. "I am _wounded_."

Those who did not know Lamia well, who did not understand the cool facade she wore like armor, might have taken this seriously - Bambi does consider sweeping the hat off her head and babbling an apology, but the glint of nasty humor in Lamia's eye is far too fun a prospect to ignore. "God, it's _so_ hot when you're sarcastic," Bambi digs her heels in and puts on her best pout, "c'mon, Mia, you get to be the witch _every_ night!"

Lamia is, as ever, inscrutable. "I _am_ a witch, sweet."

Though it was the absolute truth, Bambi still rolls her eyes - "Well, _you_ stole Mal's schtick," she gestures at Lamia's serpentine crown, "You're appropriating er, _snake_ culture!"

Mal, the snake in question, turns her head at the mention of her name - and almost instantly makes the decision that it isn't worth getting involved.

(The john that the naga is crushing blissfully in her coils seemed to agree.)

Unwilling to dignify Bambi's pouting with an answer, Lamia merely crosses her arms over her chest, watching the younger girl tie herself in knots for the sake of the game. It wasn't often she let her guard down at all - not to joke or play fight with Bambi, or even perhaps admit that she is the _tiniest_ bit stung by her coworkers ( _friends?_ ) choice in costume. She'd nearly died for the practice after all, to see it reduced to jerk-off fodder for their regulars was _interesting_ , to say the least.

Speaking of regulars - a flash of black and white in the corner of Lamia's vision sets an idea into motion. 

On the list of things Bambi was good at, whining was right up there with pole tricks: "Well, I look _great_ , and I'm not sorry!" Ever the petulant child, even in death, "you can borrow something of mine, y'know? None of it will fit, but, hey, an eye for an eye?"

Lamia tips her head to one side, considering, "Sure. An eye for an eye," she murmurs, and strides away.

\---

"Betelgeuse," the tone of Lamia's voice is all command - the corpse in question, arguing at the bar with Zia over what did or did not constitute a double, looks up with a swiftness and a hunger that was nearly Pavlovian in nature (one look at Lamia in that dress and he's _more or less_ drooling, anyway), "come on. You're getting a dance." Reaching out an impeccably manicured hand, the Witch takes the Ghost with the Most by the wrist and leads him, smirking and jabbering about how it's his lucky day, to one of their private stages. 

Rolling her eyes, Bambi sighs in apparent defeat, and lights a Virginia Slim - the game is, seemingly, over. 

Rather, the game is over until the first few notes of a song she recognizes drift over the loudspeaker. " _Who is this irresistible creature,"_ Rob Zombie grates out, _"who has an insatiable lust for the dead?"_ Living Dead Girl. Bambi's _signature_ song. The one she's shook her ass to every night for - how many years _had_ it been - for _ever_. Squeaking out a noise of affront, Bambi scrambles through the curtain just in time to see Lamia fluff her curtain of deep red hair, about to step on stage.

Bambi pulls herself up to her full height (even in her heels, _considerably_ shorter than Lamia), huffing indignantly. "Okay, but, I - that's _my song!_ "

Looking down through her lashes, Lamia quirks the corner of her lip, raises a hand - a boops Bambi, right on the nose. "Eye for an eye, love." And then she's gone, stalking out onto the stage with all the confidence of a jungle cat, hips swaying to the throbbing bass under the screaming guitar. 

\---

It was All Hallows Eve in Betelgeuse's day, a time when the ancient burial mounds were open and the veil between living and dead was at it's thinnest. It was also an opportunity to be drunk, and living or dead, that was not an opportunity he was wont to pass up. Already four hundred years dead by the time it came to be known as Halowe'en, he'd long since learned it was all horseshit, and the veil between the living and the dead waxed and waned according to paperwork, _not_ the approach of the solstice. 

The modern Halloween is _certainly_ his favorite iteration of the holiday formerly known as Samhain.

As Lamia drags him to the private stages, his roving eyes snag on Lyra manning the door in a slinky black gown, Anais writhing in her suspended cage in a latex nun getup, Poppy strategically wrapped in layers of white mummy gauze, Bernadette in black leather cat ears. 

"Now, it ain't that I don't _appreciate_ the attention, babe," he babbles, "But I'm a little light on cash, if ya know what I mean." 

She pushes him down into the cushioned seat, bending at the waist to bring them eye to eye. "On the house," the ghost of a smile plays across perfectly painted lips, "I'm proving a point."

\---

The _thing_ is, that as steamed as Bambi might be, watching Lamia dance to a song that is unequivocally _hers_ \- well, the thing is that Lamia is a really, really good dancer. 

_"Crawl on me"_ Rob Zombie growls, " _Sink into me, d_ _ie for me, l_ _iving dead girl."_ Lamia's hips sway, one hand on the pole, taking long, purposeful steps around the stage in her strappy gold heels. The stage lights make her thin dress even more transparent, ghosting over taut nipples and clinging to the tantalizing curve of her waist. From the doorway, Bambi can see Betelgeuse sitting forward in his seat, rightfully transfixed, and her skin prickles with jealousy and excitement when he wolf-whistles, loudly. 

With a _decisive_ snort, Bambi slides into the private room and drapes herself over the back of his chair, biting down lightly on one mossy earlobe to steal his attention. Beej jolts in his chair, craning his neck to peer at her with a combination of arousal and well-placed suspicion. "Now I know I don't got enough to pay the Ice Queen up there for a dance, and I _definitely_ don't got enough for you to be in here too, sweets - this some kinda trick? Ivan hidin' behind the curtain to throw the Juiceman out on his ass? 'Cuz I didn't ask for _none_ of this."

He's right to be nervous - he's been thrown out more times than Bambi can count, dragged out by the scruff of his neck for showing up skint and expecting service. 

She slithers around to his front, sinking to her knees and looking up at him through fluttering lashes. "This is _my song_ , Beej," she whines, sliding her hands up his thighs. Betelgeuse's eyes flicker from her, to Lamia, then back to Bambi, and realization dawns on him - a nasty, crooked smile stretches his ghoulish features.

"Oh, _I see,_ babes, you girls are fightin' for daddy's attention," he's nothing is not an opportunist, "well then, ain't it my lucky day."

Private suites in Dante's are mirrored, so Bambi only has to cast her eyes off to one side to see Lamia writhing on the stage - she spreads her legs, clacking her heels loudly on the floor in warning. _I see you_ , the movement says, _I know what you're doing_. 

But she doesn't stop dancing. 

Making quick work of his zipper, Bambi's eyes once again catch on her _competition,_ arching her back up off the floor, eight inch platforms posed perfectly, hands gripping her dress to bring it up _juuuuuust_ high enough to show Betelgeuse she isn't wearing panties. Though his hand slides up and into Bambi's hair (difficult, considering she won't remove the hat out of _spite_ ), his hard cock in her hand - yet all of his attention is back on Lamia, and Bambi feels a ripple of hot, delicious, jealousy. 

Bambi licks a slow stripe up the shaft of his cock with the flat of her tongue, base to tip, moaning the way only a girl paid to do it can, then takes the bulbous tip in her mouth, hallowing her cheeks to suck. Betelgeuse makes a pleased sound, a little growl at the back of his throat, and shifts in his seat. Galvanized, she pulled back, a long string of saliva stretching between her open, greedy mouth and the head of his cock - looking up through her lashes, yellow snakes eyes flash back at her. 

Licking her lips, she returns to the task at hand, closing her lips into a perfect rosebud to kiss the glans, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, opening her mouth to slide down, hot, wet, slick, taking every inch he can give her.

(Being dead means _no gag reflex_. It also means an eternity of endless drudgery, but hey, it's the little things.)

On the stage, Lamia hooks her fingers into the plunging neckline of her dress, freeing perfect tits, and Betelgeuse's eyes snap to her once more. His dick throbs in Bambi's throat, hardens, twitches - and it's divine.

Bambi won't admit to liking to being treated poorly. She doesn't need to, it's perfectly obvious - every shitty guy she ever dated when she was alive is proof positive that she gets off on the shame, the jealousy, the drama. Feeling Beej get harder in her mouth watching _another girl_ dance is exactly the kind of filthy, messed up shit that she can get away with now that she's dead.

Bobbing her head to the rhythm, Bambi fights for control, her own arousal tightening in the pit of her belly. She feels stretched thin, a rubber band ready to snap, watching Lamia dance, feeling Betelgeuse blood-hot on her tongue, and her thighs press together beneath her dress. His hips buck upwards, just slightly, and his hand tightens in her hair - Bambi doesn't know who it's for, and feels the throb of the music in her pulse, in her cunt. She swallows around his cock, and greedily drinks in his strangled chuckle of pleasure. 

Rob Zombie howls like a man possessed. " _Blood on her skin, dripping with sin,"_ Bambi's eyes flick up just as Lamia sheds the dress entirely, clad now only in a gold body chain and her halo of writhing snakes. A goddess incarnate, a serpentine witch queen using her body to transfix her prey, " _do it again, living dead girl."_

She might be able to come like this. Untouched, coasting forward on the beat of the music, the throbbing bass, the endorphin high - it's pounds in her ears and in her clit and her tempo speeds up to beat the end of the song until suddenly, Betelgeuse wrenches her head back. She stares up at him, mouth open, head empty, as the crescendo of the song fades out, and the dance ends. 

"You two," he growls, looking up to beckon Lamia to him, "are comin' upstairs with me."

(Bambi cranes her neck to catch Lamia's eyes and the pair dissolve into frazzled laughter.)


End file.
